Sly Cooper: Jynxed Affairs
by Nicodemus.Rat
Summary: Sly, living with Carmelita under the pretense of amnesia, covertly rejoins the gang for a personal mission when a rival thief steals the Cooper family cane. But stealing it back, and juggling his lives, isn't so simple. R
1. Chapter 1: A Working Arrangement

_Author's Note:_

_This takes place a few months after the end of Sly 3. I've tried to stay consistent with canon and I hope that any slips won't detract from the story. Feedback and constructive comments are certainly appreciated. _

_The first draft is finally complete. Now I'm uploading chapters as I edit them. (And it's my first time posting here, too.) Enjoy!_

_Story by Nicodemus. Some characters and settings are the property of Suckerpunch Productions._

.

**Sly Cooper and the gang in: **

** "Jynxed Affairs"**

.

Inspector Fox entered the chief's office, her tail twitching. She hated being called into meetings at the end of the day when she just wanted to go home and relax. And these meetings with the chief were never relaxing.

"What did you want to talk about, chief?"

"Sly Cooper," he said simply. The chief closed his mouth with his cigar jutting up from one corner like an exclamation point.

Carmelita glanced away. It wasn't the first time that he'd raised the subject recently and it became a bit tougher to deal with each time that he did.

"You know precisely what I'm getting at," he said. "You two have a cozy arrangement now but that doesn't erase a criminal past. It's our duty to arrest him, not employ him."

"But he's got amnesia," Carmelita protested. "He doesn't even remember being a thief."

"He's still a criminal ringleader that we've been after for years."

"Not by his recollection. I've managed to convince him that he's been a constable with Interpol for years. He's been cooperative and helpful. Surely, that's worth something."

"That is for a jury to decide, Inspector Fox. Not you."

"Beyond that, though, what about the help that he's been giving us with cases?" She could see the chief's expression flicker into a frown. He appreciated the working arrangement that they had; she pressed this advantage. "He's still occasionally remembering things from his past. He believes they're details from 'past cases' that he was working on. You know that this information has helped us make some major arrests in this city."

"That's true," the chief said slowly.

"As long as he's a valuable source of information, it makes sense to take advantage of it, does it not? Whatever he might've been in the past, right now he's contributing to this department's success."

The chief growled to himself and crossed his arms. His stub of a cigar flicked indecisively back and forth across his mouth as he chewed on it. Carmelita wondered if he ever actually smoked it.

"Fine," he said at last. "We'll continue with the current arrangement as long as it's paying dividends. But, sooner or later, he's going to start putting the pieces together. You'd better watch him. Because when that day arrives, I want him in our cells before he can get away from you again. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, chief," said Carmelita promptly.

He gave her a long look across his nose for a moment before saying, "Dismissed."

She turned and left the office, allowing herself a small sigh of relief. Another reprieve for another week.

Downstairs and halfway across a large grid of desks, Sly was sorting through case files. He sat with a slump, paging through the documents and making notes. His slump disappeared when he saw Carmelita approaching.

"Hi, ringtail," she said. "Ready to head home?"

"Am I ever." With a single move he turned off his monitor and flipped his notebook closed.

She said, "I was wondering if you might like to go out for dinner."

"Sorry, love. It's my poker night, remember?"

They went to the garage below the building. Carmelita's red sports car was parked at the far end of one row.

After she'd practically carried him from the ruins of his family vault, Sly immediately began asking questions. She'd had to invent the details of his fictional past as Constable Cooper. One thing that he didn't have was a car, as far as she knew. The Cooper Gang had always driven around in that ridiculous modified van of theirs.

On the spur of the moment, she told him that his personal car had been totaled while he was on a recent case. She'd come up with some cash, notionally the insurance settlement, which they'd used to buy him a motorcycle. Since they both worked at Interpol's central Paris office, they often just carpooled.

She'd also come up with a story about where he lived. As far as he knew now, they'd been dating for a year and he'd just moved into her apartment's spare room. She was most pleased that she'd invented that story. Come to think of it, he didn't seem to be too unhappy with it, either.

* * *

Sly pulled his bike off the main street into a dark alley beside the club and killed the engine. He could just hear the distant thumping of a rave beat over the sounds of the evening traffic. He left his helmet on as he went to a small side door. Faded patches of stenciled white paint marked it as "Le Chateau Noir."

He walked through the narrow kitchen. The cook, a massive bear with a crooked front tooth, looked over and nodded to him as he passed.

Out in the main room of the club, the music was pounding and the lights were flashing. People spun on the dance floor with carefree moves. At booths and tables all around the perimeter of the club, knots of friends were having conversations over drinks.

The raccoon weaved his way around the edge of the crowd towards one person in particular. A turtle with thick glasses sat alone in a corner booth. One might've thought he was just a shy wallflower except that he didn't show any interest or envy of the other people having fun. He had his green nose buried in a book.

The raccoon sat on the opposite bench and, glancing around to ensure no one was eying him, pulled off his helmet. "Good to see you again, Bentley."

"Hi, Sly," said the turtle, closing his book. "Here for our weekly 'poker night,' as I believe you call it?"

"Hey, I have to tell Carmelita something, right? It was the best cover story I could think of." He put his helmet down on the table and leaned forwards. "What I want to know is how you guys are doing. Any exciting jobs this week?"

"Well, there is something I need to tell you about, but I—"

"C'mon, Bentley," said Sly, encouraging him. "You know I have to live vicariously through you guys, now."

The turtle cleared his throat. "Look, Sly, I have to tell you about what we found when we got back from the latest job. I think you'd better sit down."

Sly looked at the bench that he was already sitting on. He blinked at Bentley a few times before saying, "I am sitting down."

"I know. But it just seemed like I should really preface this bad news with something like that."

"What bad news?"

"Someone broke into our headquarters. A silent alarm was triggered while we were out on our mission."

Sly involuntarily tensed. A cold, still feeling spread through his stomach.

"We got back as soon as we could, of course, to see what had happened," Bentley continued. "But the thief had already been and gone."

"Please," Sly whispered, "don't tell me that the Thievius Raccoonus was stolen. Please, Bentley. Not again."

He shook his head and Sly let out a sigh of relief.

"No, that's still locked in the hidden safe. Even you would need several hours to break into that monstrosity."

"Thank goodness. I was worried that—"

"Your cane was stolen."


	2. Chapter 2: Stolen History

Sly was momentarily confused. "Wait a minute. Someone broke into our place and stole… just my cane?"

"Precisely correct," Bentley said. "It was in a locked cabinet, but hadn't been further secured because we didn't expect anyone to target it."

"Neither did I. It isn't going to help someone learn any secrets, unlike the Thievius Raccoonus. And it's not a particularly valuable object. The hook's only gold-plated, you know."

The turtle shook his head slowly. "Sly, I think you sometimes forget how well-known you are in certain circles. I don't think the cane was stolen because it's inherently valuable. It's what it represents."

"The Cooper family," the raccoon mumbled, looking down at the tabletop. He'd inherited the cane from his father and it was one of a few links to his past.

Each of his ancestors had incorporated the angular "C" shape into the tools of their trade. It was part of the Cooper tradition. And that made it a part of his identity, too.

Sly saw his reflection looking back at him from the polished wood of the table, eyes framed with his natural mask of black fur. His lineage was reflected in his own face; he was the one that carried the Cooper name, now. His eyes narrowed.

"We have to get it back," he said.

"That's what I expected you'd say," said Bentley.

"I'll steal it back myself," said Sly, looking up to meet the turtle's gaze.

"Yes, that's what I was afraid you'd say, too," he said with a sigh. "You know that I've missed working with you, but these aren't exactly the circumstances under which I'd hoped you'd rejoin the gang."

"Me neither, pal. So what do we know? How'd all this happen?"

Bentley reached up and adjusted his spectacles. "Well, we were just finishing up a minor job on the other side of the city when one of our house alarms was triggered. It sent a message to my laptop so I knew right away that something was wrong. But it took the three of us an hour to —"

"Three of you?" Sly interrupted.

"Remember, we brought Rory McSweeney onto the team because we needed some muscle? This was around a month ago, now."

"Right," said Sly, nodding. "I'd forgotten. Well, Big Jim McSweeney was the powerhouse in my father's gang. How's Rory?"

"Doing a good job of following in his father's footsteps," Bentley said. "Though he has admitted to me that he wishes it were still the 'Cooper gang.' As I said, your reputation is widespread. I'm sure he'll be happy to get a chance to work with you."

Sly grinned. "Flattering, certainly. I look forward to meeting him."

"Right. Well, we returned home as quickly as possible. The only thing missing was your cane. Fortunately, I'd installed some security cameras, so we were able to see exactly who'd infiltrated our sanctum."

* * *

Carmelita sat on the couch, her long legs stretched out to the side. The dirty dish from her dinner sat on the end table. She'd deal with it later.

Images flitted on the television. She idly clicked the remote, looking for something that would hold her attention.

The conversation with the chief kept circling through her head. It wasn't very nice of him to spring that on me right at the end of the day, she thought.

She clicked the channel button again.

If Sly could come up with a few more valuable tips in the coming weeks, Carmelita was pretty certain that the chief would relent. That would give her some more time.

Click.

He'd said that Sly should still be tried as a criminal, which was true. She knew the law. But she also saw him working each day, doing an honest job. Even leaving aside the tips he produced on top of that, he was really contributing to Interpol's work.

Click.

Surely a court would take that into account. He'd changed. She was working alongside him now. That felt so…

Click.

If he kept remembering pieces, wouldn't he eventually see through her ruse? His amnesia hadn't diminished his intelligence. If he thought that not all of his memories were past casework…

Click.

She was the one that had lied to him, that day. She knew, somehow, that she had to. Would he understand that? Would he see that there was, at that one moment, a chance…

Click.

Carmelita stared vacantly into the glare of the television. She realized she hadn't actually looked at the past half dozen channels. She rested her head in her paws and her dark hair fell forward, hiding her face.


	3. Chapter 3: Jynx

Penelope checked her remote control transmitter for the third time. The servo motors in her helicopter whirred back and forth as she moved the sticks. All the tiny rods and linkages slid and twisted just as they were supposed to.

She flipped the power off and set her transmitter next to the RC aircraft on the makeshift workbench. From her perch on the stool, she looked across the room of the safehouse that was their temporary headquarters.

Bentley was sitting in his wheelchair on the opposite side of the main room. He was fitfully tapping at the keys of his laptop. She'd known him long enough to recognize when he was upset just by the way he typed.

She sighed. He'd been like this since the break-in two days ago. It had obviously hit him hard. He was the one that had particularly insisted that they move into temporary quarters, a safehouse some ways from their normal home, in case the infiltration was a prelude to something worse. But tonight he'd gone to see Sly at their weekly meeting. He'd come back and returned to his work on the computer, too distracted to say more than a few words to her.

What he had said was that Sly would be coming by tonight so that they could formulate a plan.

* * *

Unable to resist the nostalgia of the old hideout, Sly took a slight detour after leaving the nightclub. He wanted to see the house where he and the gang had spent so many years.

The small building was dark. There wasn't even any sign of movement on the street except for him idling along. It was somehow… peaceful. Undisturbed.

He leaned back down over the handlebars of the motorcycle and hit the throttle. His striped tail stretched out behind him as the wind ruffled through the fur. He weaved down crooked streets that he remembered well from his time in the area. No one seemed to be following him, so he headed back towards the main road.

Ten minutes later, after negotiating his way through the nighttime Paris traffic, he pulled up to the place that Bentley had described to him. It was an unexciting building in an industrial neighborhood; just the sort of thing that made for a good refuge.

He stashed his bike in a dead-end alleyway beside the building. As he climbed the rusting metal stairs, he saw Penelope looking out from the door at the top. He gave her a friendly wave as he trotted up the remainder of the steps.

"Welcome back, stranger," she said, holding the door open.

Inside, there was a couch in the middle of the room facing a tiny television. Two people that Sly didn't recognize were sitting on it. Off to one side of the couch was Bentley, in his mechanically-enhanced chair.

"Sly, you finally made it," he said, wheeling himself over to the door. "I'm just making some final calculations. Why don't you sit down? I'll have the plan finished in just a minute."

Penelope closed the door and then led Sly over to the couch. Seated on one end was a large purple walrus. At the other was a gaunt weasel, flipping a screwdriver absentmindedly in one paw.

"This is Rory," said Penelope as she indicated the walrus.

"Nice to meet you at last," he said, standing up to shake the 'coon's paw. "Our fathers used to work together. I guess I've come to carry on the tradition."

"Well, since Murray left to join the racing circuit, the gang's been short some good muscle. It looks like you're well-suited to the job."

The walrus smiled and flexed one arm.

"And this," said Penelope, "is Kent. We've hired him to assist us with some of our machine work."

The tan weasel gave a brief wave.

"So you help out with projects?" asked Sly.

"I'm a fabrication specialist," said Kent with a shaky nod. "I helped Bentley rig up his chair after… you know. Since then, I've done a bit of contract work for the group. Here and there."

At that point, Bentley cleared his throat. He was at the back of the room, with his chair-mounted laptop hooked into a projector.

"If you'll all take a seat, we can review our situation."

Sly lithely stepped back and dropped onto the middle of the couch, between Rory and Kent. Penelope walked around the couch and pulled her stool over to sit beside Bentley.

The old bulb in the projector flickered to life, casting a square of light onto the white wall in front of the couch. A fuzzy image of a feline filled the view.

"These are still images I extracted from our security cameras," said Bentley. Sly noted that the familiar note of confidence was back in his friend's nasal voice, as it always was when he was giving a briefing and he had an unstoppable plan.

The projected image changed over to a new view of the cat. His triangular ears ended in distinctive tufts of black fur.

"This is a local thief who goes by the name of Jynx the Lynx. As you can see in these images, he got in and quickly picked out what he wanted."

A series of images showed the lynx opening a storage cupboard on the wall of their old front room. Inside, hanging on a peg, was the Cooper family cane. Sly clenched his fists as he saw a picture of the interloper proudly holding the cane.

"I didn't know much about this guy. He isn't a big-name operator within Paris, as far as I can tell. But our new member, Rory, was able to discover some very interesting things."

Sly turned expectantly to the walrus sitting beside him.

"A buddy of mine was employed by Jynx. He was hired on as security. By helping him to leave on a paid vacation yesterday, if you catch my drift, I got some inside details from him. Turns out Jynx has purchased an old manufacturing building in the city to use as his offices."

Rory shook his head as he continued, "Not a friendly place, from the sound of it. But Jynx has only a limited number of guys working there, since he thinks the building is pretty secure and low-profile."

"That'll help us out. We've taken some photos of the site which does, I admit, present a penetration challenge," said Bentley, as he rotated photos onto the screen. "Our principal goal will be to get inside without alerting the hired security forces."

Sly grinned. "A classic sneak operation. You know those are my favorites."

Bentley smiled and said, "That was why I couldn't finalize my plan until tonight, when you told me that you intended to come along. With your dexterity available to the team, we can now implement an optimal vector of entry. Isn't that right, Rory?"

"Umm… What you said. Yeah," said the walrus, vaguely nodding.

Sly chuckled. "Don't worry about him, Rory. What else did you find out about Jynx?"

"Well, my friend did say that a special item came in a few days ago. That links up with the burglary here. Jynx didn't allow any of the crew to see what it was, either. He personally put it into a special room on the second floor of the building."

"That sure sounds like what we're after," said Penelope. "What I still don't get is why he took just a cane. If he were going to try to impersonate you, Jynx would've taken your cap which you left hanging in the same cupboard. Or your raccoon calling cards."

Sly said, "Maybe he just wanted to prove that he could steal from a master thief. That cat thinks that he can walk off with my family heirloom. I'll prove him wrong."

"My friend had a sort of explanation," said Rory. "Scuttlebutt among the guards was that this object was going to be sold. One of them heard Jynx talking about arrangements for a viewing and private auction in this room. He's planning to invite a select group of his business friends as possible buyers."

Sly's eyes narrowed. "He's going to sell it? He'll simultaneously demonstrate that he's successfully stolen from me and he'll make money off of it. Devious."

"I think it'll take him a few days to make those arrangements," said Bentley, flipping the projector back to a picture of Jynx. "Meanwhile, tomorrow evening, we swoop in and retrieve the cane. When his circle of unscrupulous bidders shows up, there won't be anything to buy."

"Sounds great, Bentley, but how do we do it?"

"I'm glad you asked," said the turtle, triumphantly switching to a slide with a complex diagram.


	4. Chapter 4: Plans and Obligations

The projector flashed Bentley's plan onto the blank space of wall in front of the couch. Sly's first impression was simply of an explosion of arrows.

"Wow, Bentley, that looks… great. Could you maybe break it down a bit?"

"Of course." The turtle pressed a key and the next image showed just a sketch of the building without the arrows. "As near as we can tell, from the information provided by Rory, the cane is in a secured room on the west end of the second floor. This two-story building has no windows except near the front entrance, so we're left with accessing the second floor from above or below."

The picture changed to an overhead map showing Jynx's building, the surrounding streets, and a few nearby buildings.

"Our preliminary scouting showed two guards patrolling the roof," Bentley continued. "There is stairway access to the roof, which I'm sure is why they're up there. But I calculate that it's highly probable there are also guards inside, watching the stairs and halls."

"It's a tall order for me to sneak past that many thugs in a hallway," Sly said.

"I factored that into my planning. That's why you won't use the stairs at all." He pressed a key and changed to an aerial picture of the rooftop.

"This is thanks to Penelope's reconnaissance," Bentley said.

"I mounted a small camera on my RC chopper. It's been tremendously useful," Penelope said.

"As you can see," said Bentley, drawing a circle on the image, "there's a large air conditioning unit in the center of the roof. It's a common configuration for these converted factory buildings. The AC unit is mounted on top of an aluminum duct which carries the air throughout the building."

"And that's where we'll get in, somehow," guessed Sly.

"Exactly. We can set up on top of this three-story across the street building. I'll use my sleep darts to take care of the guards on patrol. Sly, you run across these phone wires to get onto Jynx's roof. Then it's a matter of getting you into the ductwork."

The weasel sitting next to Sly spoke up. "That's where I come in." He pulled out a cylindrical tool that resembled two flashlights taped together. Sly took it and looked at it curiously.

"It's a miniature plasma cutter," said Kent. "Slices through sheet metal beautifully. You won't have to worry about trying to unbolt that huge AC unit. Just cut it free from the duct it's sitting on top of."

"Sounds easy enough," said Sly, turning the tool over in his paws.

"Work quick, though. That small cutter can't hold a lot of fuel. And… be careful."

"If it can cut through metal, I was already assuming that it was dangerous," said the raccoon, slightly offended.

"Oh, no, not that," said Kent quickly. "I just mean, I don't have a replacement. It's one of my favorite tools." An apologetic smile flicked across his face.

"I'll take good care of it."

"The other challenge," said Bentley, "is that this AC unit is going to be heavy. You won't be able to lift it by yourself. Penelope, it's your job to use the winch on your remote-control helicopter to help lift the blower aside so that the vent is open."

"Roger," piped the mouse.

"Once inside, Sly, you'll have to head toward the west end of the building and see if you can locate the correct room. From the descriptions Rory got from his associate, the rooms are open-ceiling with suspended ducts."

"That'll be a challenge," said Sly. "If they're on the ceiling, I won't be able to reach the duct to get back in. Do we have a different exit route?"

"No, you'll go back through the air ducts, too. Kent will also provide you with a portable winch you can use to lift yourself back up."

The weasel said, "I just need to change out the gearbox on the motor. It'll be ready for tomorrow."

Bentley continued, "Sly, you'll exit back to the roof and rendezvous with me. We head down to street level, where Rory's been waiting with the van."

"I'm covering the exit in case you guys need any sudden help," said the walrus.

Bentley flipped off the projector. "And that's the plan," he said proudly.

"Fine, Bentley," said Sly, getting up from the couch. "I'll meet you guys back here tomorrow evening to put it into motion."

He walked around towards the door but Penelope stepped forward, holding a cloth bundle. He recognized the blue fabric of one of his old shirts, the red canvas leg pouch, and the black string of his eye mask.

"We remembered to grab these when we moved our headquarters," she said, smiling up at the raccoon. "We hoped that you'd be back to your old self for one night."

Sly reached over ran a paw across the shirt. "You know, I've missed this. Police uniforms look snappy but they just aren't that comfortable. But not tonight. Not quite yet."

Penelope nodded and set the bundle back on the edge of her work table.

Sly added, "I'd love to, but I can't risk Carmelita finding it. She can't know that I've even talked to you."

Bentley cleared his throat. "Sly," he asked tentatively, "how long do you think you can keep this up?"

"Since you've been feeding me information on local criminals, I've been able to really help her out. I pretend that I believe I'm remembering old cases and she gets the drop on some bad guys who really deserve to be behind bars." He tried to keep his tone upbeat.

"Sly, how long can you keep this up?" Bentley repeated. "She's going to find out. She's no fool."

The raccoon looked away. There was a very quiet moment in the room. Sly walked towards the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, without turning around.

* * *

"I said that I'd have some of my men there, it's just that overtime requests should really go through proper authorization," Carmelita said, trying not to shout into the phone.

She could feel herself getting progressively more irritated. Maybe it was because she'd been having a lousy day. Maybe it was because it was that one hour of the afternoon where the sun angled through her window and got in her eyes. But she suspected that it was because she thought she'd gotten Officer Thompson out of her hair.

"You know that Interpol promised to support the local police on these sorts of operations," came the voice through the phone.

"I'm not saying we won't support you," said Carmelita, "it's just short notice."

"We can sort out the paperwork details later," he said. "I just want to be sure that you'll be there."

"Fine," she said, trying not to audibly growl into the mouthpiece. She looked up when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Sly was coming into her office. He stopped when he saw that she was on the phone and leaned against the frame of the doorway.

"I'll be there as an official Interpol representative. I'll see who else I can get, but it'll have to be on a volunteer basis, given the short notice. I'll call you back in an hour to coordinate actions. Goodbye."

She slammed the receiver down and stared at her desk for a moment.

"And who was that?" asked Sly from the doorway.

"That was Gabe Thompson, more commonly known as Officer Thompson of our friendly neighborhood police department," she said in a mocking singsong.

Sly raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, it's just that he wants some extra manpower on a sting operation by his department and we're obliged to support him. Even if he calls on the day of the operation."

"And that's why you're so upset? I can't normally hear you grinding your teeth from halfway down the hall."

Carmelita sighed. "There's a bit of history between us… Of course, you don't remember that, do you?" she added quickly.

Sly shook his head.

"I knew him back at the academy. We were always friendly rivals in class. But then, when I was selected by Interpol and he wasn't, well, the rivalry got less friendly."

"It can't be too unfriendly if he's calling you up for help."

"It's not that he wants my help. It's that he wants me to see him arrest another criminal. He wants to prove that he's as good at law enforcement as I am. For the life of me, though, I don't know why. He's done well in the local force and is, from what I hear, in line to be precinct captain."

Sly's head was tilted downward as he leaned on the door frame. He peered at her from under his black brows and said, "It can be intimidating to feel you're always trying to catch up with someone who's out of your league. Trust me."

For a moment, Carmelita didn't know how to respond. She hadn't been referring to him, obviously. But the comment had a note of wounded sincerity that she couldn't ignore. It reminded her of the old Sly. The one that she was always chasing.

_With my blaster drawn_, she reminded herself. "Oh, don't worry about yourself," she said, trying to force some cheer into her voice. "You'll become Inspector Cooper soon enough. I just have a few extra years of experience on you, that's all."

He offered a wan smile that carried no enthusiasm. She could tell that it wasn't the response he'd hoped to hear.

"So Officer Thompson called as part of our mutual assistance contract. He's got a sting operation tonight and I need to see if I can round up some volunteers. Want to get some more field experience with me?"

Sly didn't smile at that comment, either. "I'm sorry, love. I… I'm busy."

"You are?" she asked with some surprise.

"Something came up at the, uh, poker game. See, I promised a friend that I'd go out with him tonight. It's his birthday and he wanted to paint the town red and he particularly wanted me to go along and have a good time and, well, I told him I would." He paused after the babble of words and then added a tentative, "You know how sometimes there are awkward obligations?"

She sighed. "Don't worry about it. I'll get some of the other guys in the department to come along."


	5. Chapter 5: Making an Entrance

The crisp night breeze made his whiskers twitch. Sly reached up with one paw and checked that his cloth cap was snug on his head.

From his crouched position, he watched Bentley roll across the roof to the raised brick edge. The turtle steadied his crossbow on the wall. Just across the narrow street was Jynx's building.

From his cover behind the half wall, Bentley fired off two crossbow bolts in quick succession. He squinted through his binoculars, checking the results. Then he wheeled himself around and gave a wave to Sly and Penelope, who were hanging back out of sight.

Sly hurried forward and saw the two warthog thugs dozing peacefully on the opposite roof. He could also see the phone cable hanging between the two buildings that was going to serve as his personal bridge. He hopped up onto the edge of the roof, keeping his eyes on the line as it swayed in the wind.

"Okay," said Bentley. "I'll cover the guards in case they start to wake up. Remember that we don't know the exact floorplan, so you may have to hunt to find the right room."

Sly smiled over his shoulder at his friend. "Why are you so nervous? I'll be in and out in no time."

"I don't know. It just seems quiet and, well, we haven't done this for a while."

"You're worried that I'm out of practice? Trust me. I'll be as cautious as I always was."

The turtle snorted. "Yeah. That's precisely what concerns me."

Sly turned and leapt towards the wire. He landed in a crouch, swinging with it for a moment to check his balance. Then he was up, treading along the line with his tail flipping behind him, counterbalancing his moves. His soft-soled shoes gripped around the narrow rubber-clad cable with each careful step.

The movements were all second nature to him after years of work. Even with his recent hiatus, he hadn't lost the muscle memory.

He reached the other end of the wire and jumped up onto the sloping skirt of the rooftop. The roof was ringed with a decorative shingled band but the central portion was entirely flat.

The two guards were also lying flat, unconscious from Bentley's darts. Sly couldn't resist checking their pockets. After all, they were right there.

As he stuffed a pawful of francs into his bag, he heard Penelope's helicopter taking off and moving overhead. Sly dashed over to the AC unit. He caught the dangling hook from the helicopter and quickly looped it around the metal casing to secure it.

Crouching down, he could see a few exposed inches of the circular ventilation duct that connected to the bottom of the blower. The walls of the duct were thin aluminum sheet, just as Bentley had guessed.

Sly reached into his leg pouch and pulled out the plasma cutter. He leaned forward and turned it on. Then he quickly leaned backwards, as the heat from the tiny unit almost curled his whiskers. The glow was so bright that he had to squint to be able to see what he was doing. But as he traced it around the pipe, shifting his crouched position clockwise as he went, the aluminum vent was being cut as if it were butter.

After slicing the duct free, Sly applied the cutter to the mounting bolts. Soon, the whole unit was being lifted up and aside by Penelope's RC helicopter. It made a gentle crunch as she lowered it back down onto the tar and gravel rooftop. Sly undid the rope and hook.

He couldn't help but smile to himself. The whole operation was relatively silent; especially when compared to the reverberating din of trying to saw through a duct. He guessed that Jynx would deploy his security around the ground floor and the access ladder to the roof; those were the logical places for a stealthy entry.

But now he had his own entrance. One that Jynx wasn't counting on. That was one of the secrets: keep the enemy surprised.

Looking past the melted rim of the duct, he could see that the vertical section ended at a horizontal crosspiece not five feet below him. Sly held his gloved paw next to his head and whispered, "The pinball's in play."

"Roger that," came Bentley's response in his earpiece.

Sly hopped into the open mouth of the duct.

Penelope guided the helicopter back to a gentle landing a few feet from where she was standing. The motor's hum stopped as she cut the power. The oversized high-lift blades whooshed as they cut through the air, spinning freely to a stop.

With the miniature chopper safely landed, Penelope let the transmitter hang from the strap around her neck. She wandered over to where Bentley had parked his wheelchair at the edge of the roof. He was vigilantly watching the sleeping guards through his binocucom.

"Hey, Bentley," she said, "I'm going to pack up my gear and head back to the van, if that's okay."

"Oh. I thought you were going to wait here with me?" He sounded slightly disappointed.

"Well, I'd love to, but it's darn cold up here in the wind and I didn't bring a jacket."

"I suppose that my plan didn't take into account the weather forecast. Sly should be back in a few minutes and we'll be down to join you."

She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. She loved the adorable way he blushed whenever she did that.

Penelope grabbed her helicopter and headed down to street level. The team van was parked in a nearby alley. She pulled open the cargo door at the rear to load her aircraft.

Rory, sitting the driver's seat, watched her in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows arched. "Back so soon?"

"I wanted to get out of the wind." She closed the door and headed around to the passenger seat. "Besides," she added, "I can keep you company."

The walrus shrugged. "I'm okay."

Penelope settled into her seat. A car passed by the narrow strip of the road that she could see at the mouth of the alley. "Compared to your usual role, in the midst of the action, I just thought it might be boring."

"Nah. If anyone's bored, it's Kent."

"Well, Bentley was concerned about the security of the new safehouse. He wanted someone on watch."

Rory glanced sideways at Penelope. "Does he strike you as odd?"

"What, Bentley?"

"No, no. Kent."

She scratched her chin. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, last night, I happened to see him downtown. I thought it a bit strange that he wasn't in his workshop when he said he'd be finishing up equipment for our mission. I followed him for a few blocks and saw him head into a building with some shady looking characters."

"What was the building?"

"I didn't hang around to check. I didn't want him to spot me and think I was spying on him."

Penelope shrugged. "He could've been doing anything at all."

Rory stared out of the windshield. "It just seemed odd, was all. Thought I'd mention it."

After looking at him for a moment, she smiled and said, "Are you sure all this sitting and waiting around hasn't put you on edge?"

* * *

Sly crouched in the confined space of the duct. He twisted so that he could pull the winch from where he carried it on his back. It had a set of extendable legs which he braced against the walls of the vertical shaft, locking the winch into place.

He began crawling away down the length of ductwork. He had a good sense of direction and could tell that this branch was heading toward the correct end of the building. The rope unwinding from the winch's spool trailed behind him. On the end that he held in his paw was a loop for him to grip and the motor control buttons.

Sly crept along, being careful to make no sound. It was challenging to move silently in what was basically an aluminum echo chamber. But he lived for such challenges. Even creeping along, it was exciting to be back on a mission.

This was his calling. He'd missed it, living an alternate life in Carmelita's apartment. Sly smiled to himself. Not that his new setup didn't have its attractions, certainly.

He passed over a ventilation grille mounted in the bottom of the duct. Between the metal slats, he caught glimpses of a hallway. There were no signs of movement but it also didn't look like his target. He continued to inch along.

He wished that there were some way to combine the two aspects of his life. While he might love Carmelita, it was still hard to leave a family tradition behind.

Sly reached the next grate. Peering downward through the slats, he could see a display case in the room below. It was situated just a little to one side of the vent. And in the case, resting on a velvet base, was his cane.

He couldn't help but be slightly amused at the presentation. The thick plexiglass case, the polished metal of the cane's crook, the artful folds of black velvet… It looked like an archeological artifact. When he stored his cane at home, he just hung it on a wooden peg inside a cabinet.

From the pouch on his leg, he withdrew a length of string. He tied this to the metal grille so that it wouldn't be able to fall and clatter. Gripping the string in one paw, he gave the grate a jab and it popped free. Turning it sideways, reeled it up and set it off to one side.

He hadn't made much noise, but he always liked to listen in case he'd attracted some attention. Sly tilted his head to one side. Beside him, a rectangle of light from the room beamed up into the duct through the opening.

He could hear something. The room below was filled with a very faint noise. It was not any single, distinct sound. But it was something that he recognized.

It was the sound of a group of people desperately trying to be quiet.

The Thievius Raccoonus had pages of meticulous notes, penned by his ancestors, on the subject of silence. It was trickier to be entirely silent than one might expect. Once you'd mastered it, however, you became even more acutely aware of the amateurs that weren't truly silent.

Sly hesitated. He couldn't tell how many people were down there. He couldn't radio Bentley without being heard.

_Maybe Jynx and friends wanted to meet me in person?,_ he wondered. _Well, I'd better give them a show…_


	6. Chapter 6: Calling Card

Officer Thompson hardly blinked as he stared at the small opening in the air duct. When he saw the light blue fabric of a shirt move over it, he began firing. Shock rounds slammed into the vent, dispersing in a web of electrical arcs.

Standing off to one side of the room, Inspector Carmelita couldn't even see what he was firing at. She had her pistol drawn, just in case their target came into view.

The ductwork shook under the assault. Dust and debris fell in a loose cloud. But Carmelita's eyes spotted a charred piece of cardboard, flipping end over end as it tumbled to the floor. Even at a distance, it was intimately familiar.

When the barrage stopped, she hurried over to stand near the duct, surreptitiously planting her boot on top of the scrap. "Did you hit the perpetrator?" she asked Thompson.

"I think I must've stunned him," Thompson said. "He was visible as he was shifting. I hit him square on."

He turned to one of the policemen waiting by the room's door. "Radio the second team to move in. And get the ladder in here so we can pull this duct down! I think he's lying in there, dazed."

While he was busy issuing commands, Carmelita shifted her foot and looked down at the angular piece of blue cardboard. Half of it was singed and burnt away from the effects of the shock round, but she had no trouble recognizing it. She'd seen dozens of these calling cards over the course of her Interpol career. And that meant…

* * *

"Sly?"

The raccoon struggled in the confines of the duct. He wriggled his paw and hidden transmitter up to his head. "Bentley, I'm okay," he said, panting.

"What happened?"

"A trap. There were people waiting in the room." He unwrapped the winch's rope from where it had twisted around one arm.

After realizing that people were waiting in the room, and that they couldn't help but notice a grille popping off a duct, he'd decided to test their disposition. He'd slipped his shirt off and used one foot to move it across the vent opening.

Because of his precautions, he'd gotten away lightly. The familiar, searing pain of a shock round had caught him in the leg. It charred parts of his shirt and his calf fur.

Immediately, he'd pressed the button on the winch's rope and been reeled away from the opening. He heard several more rounds hit, grounding their charge on the metal ductwork.

He detached the braces on the winch, removed it from the opening of the vertical duct, and tucked the winch into his backpack.

"We have to abort. I'm heading topside."

Penelope clutched her handheld radio as she listened to the hurried exchange.

"Bentley, do you want us to move the van?" she asked.

"No, you stay put. As soon as Sly can get out, we'll—"

There were distant, muffled noises. Penelope's fingers tightened around the radio. Then Bentley called, "The police are all over the rooftops! Don't come—"

"Bentley?" Penelope stared at the radio, waiting for something more. "Bentley!"

She looked up at Rory, who was looking back at her. "We've got to help him," she said, trying not to panic.

"He said there's cops all over. We wouldn't have a chance."

A voice came through the radio but it was Sly this time. "It sounds like I'm not going to be heading up to the roof."

"Sly, you need to get out of the building, fast."

"I know. Can you see the first-floor doors from where you are?"

Penelope leaned forward in her seat. Around the corner, she could see the main entrance of the building. A knot of Jynx's guards were gathered by the doors, nervously eyeing the police that had appeared on the nearby rooftop.

"They seem to have gathered by the door to watch the action," she reported.

"Were there any other doors or windows on the ground floor?"

"There's the loading dock on the other side of the building, but that's got a cargo door that'll be locked down. There's a pair of windows near the front entrance where the guards are."

She heard Sly let out a frustrated sigh. "This is going to be tricky."


	7. Chapter 7: Fly Away Home

Sly kept going along the horizontal duct toward the other side of the building, peeking through grilles to check his progress. When he reached the end of the metal tunnel, he found a storage room and loading dock.

No one appeared to be around and he didn't have time for caution. He gave a sharp kick and the vent cover popped out, bouncing onto a pile of cardboard boxes.

Sly lowered himself down from the opening and checked the room. The interior door, which he guessed led to a hallway, was closed. The exterior cargo door was down, just as Penelope had said. And, luckily, there was no one in the room.

He sprinted over to the loading dock and examined the outer door. It was a typical industrial piece: long horizontal slats connected by pin hinges so that it could roll up. Overhead was the mechanism for reeling in the door. It was hooked into some automated system.

Sly crouched down behind a crate, out of sight in case someone entered the room. He noticed, clamps on the floor that locked the door down. He visually traced the wires running from these, up to the door mechanism, and then away through a hole in the wall.

"No doubt they've got a central computer system to control building security. And our computer expert is out of commission, now," he muttered to himself. "Well, I guess I'll have to do this my way. Hope I've got enough fuel left."

He reached into his leg pouch and pulled out Kent's plasma cutter. He flicked it on with his thumb and the cone of intense heat appeared at the nozzle.

Sly quickly traced two lines up the door, cutting across the slats. Then he ran along the bottom between them, finishing just as the cutter's flame started to flicker out.

"The pinball's loose," he said into the bracelet radio. "Drive around to the loading dock and call me when you're in position."

"Really?" came a surprised response from Penelope. "I mean, yeah, roger. On our way!"

Penelope turned to Rory, who was hunched over the steering wheel, staring glumly at the cop cars that had materialized to surround the building.

"Sly's waiting for us. Head to the loading dock around the side."

The walrus blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Step on it!"

Rory twisted the key and the engine hummed to life. He pulled out so fast the tires squealed. He maneuvered around a few parked and empty squad cars and into the side street.

"In position," Penelope called. She didn't hear a reply through the radio. And, strangely, the cargo door was still closed.

She was just wondering what Sly was planning when he leaped through a flap in the door, midway through a somersaulting roll. He came up on his feet just a few yards from the van.

The piece of the cargo door that had been cut except for the top hinge was still swinging as the raccoon climbed into the van and it sped away. Several officers from nearby buildings scrambled down to their vehicles to give chase but the van was already turning around a corner several blocks away.

* * *

The ride in the van was quiet. Rory gripped the steering wheel in fists as he drove them back to their safehouse. Penelope sat in the passenger seat, chin down on her chest, lost in thought.

Sly was in the back of the van. He'd hopped in and rolled onto his back. He lay there, catching his breath.

His head bumped against the ridged, metal floor of the van as they bounced down the poorly-maintained streets of the industrial district. He hoped that it'd knock some sense into his head.

_How could I not have seen this? There were enough signs. I obviously have forgotten something since I left thieving._

_Jynx knew the location of our headquarters. Okay, no great feat. But he also knew how to bypass all of our traps on the way to my cane. It was only one alarm that Bentley had installed that he tripped._

_Now our raid is blown. It was predictable that I'd come after my Cooper family possession; that was no great mystery. But there was a roomful of cops waiting at exactly the time that I showed up._

_Jynx set me up. He didn't want the cane. He wanted me._

_And he paid someone on our team to give away the plan. Someone ratted us out… Or, some weasel…_


	8. Chapter 8: Carmelita's Move

Carmelita wandered down the hall towards the door of her apartment. She wasn't sure what to think after the night's activities. The only thing that she was sure of was that she was looking forward to getting some sleep.

As she came in the front door, she saw something else that she didn't expect. Sly was sitting in a recliner in the front room, leaned over with his chin resting on one paw. He started and sat upright at the sound of the door opening but she still caught of glance of him with a distant, thoughtful look on his face.

He tried to cover it with a casual question. "How'd the raid with Thompson go?"

Carmelita eyed him as he tried not to squirm in the chair. "Not too bad. We captured one of the criminals," she said as she crossed the room. "How was your friend's birthday celebration?"

"Oh, right, that. Fine. It was fine."

She turned away to look out the living room window. Lights up and down the Paris street twinkled in the morning darkness. She realized, idly, that she could see Sly reflected in the window, too.

It wasn't the image of the jaunty 'coon that she'd chased for so many years. He drooped back into the faded fabric of the recliner. His eyes stared down at the carpet.

_Why can't you believe that he was there? _she asked herself. _You thought you were fooling him but he's fooled you all this time. There's no other reason that his calling card would've been there. Now he's still trying to pretend._

"We did capture one of the targets," she said, watching for his reaction. "Does the name 'Bentley' ring a bell?"

He glanced over but didn't catch her eyes in the window's reflection. He looked back down at the floor and mumbled, "No."

"He was… one of the cases that you worked on. We've hunted him for a long time. He's quite the evil mastermind."

"No," said Sly fervently, clenching the arm of the recliner. "No, I don't remember," he added hastily, trying to sound casual.

Carmelita watched the emotions play across his face. He could maintain his composure while he knew she was watching. But this was genuine. This was Sly without his mask.

_Who is he trying to protect by pretending? Me or him?_

Her mouth closed into a tight line. She hated to see him so miserable. Maybe she'd gotten even closer to him than she realized.

She turned around and moved to stand deliberately in front of him. He looked up and met her unexpectedly intense gaze.

"Yes, they captured Bentley as well as some other possessions which they're holding as evidence. Since this maneuver was led by the local precinct, they are all in the custody of the police. Bentley has been locked in a cell and a second cell has been commandeered as an evidence locker for the bulky items, Thompson told me.

"I happen to know the layout of that police station, in case you don't remember it. The six jail cells are on the second floor, in a separate hallway. But the security camera that watches the hallway door is currently on the fritz."

Sly just stared at her in open-mouthed surprise.

Carmelita spoke in a rush of words. "They still consider the setup secure since the hallway and cells are locked down and only the station chief and Thompson carry the keys. There are small windows for the cells, but all of the windows in the upper floor of the north wing are narrow and have thick bars. If someone were to break out — or in — it would be through that hall door.

"I'm meeting Thompson outside the police station at ten sharp, the morning after tomorrow, for the official transfer ceremony. After that formality, Bentley will be booked and taken under guard directly to an Interpol prison and all of the evidence will be properly impounded and secured."

She cleared her throat to try to cover for the fact that her voice had started to break. "I just thought you might want to know," she said, turning away. "I'm going to bed, now."

She rushed into the bedroom and closed the door. Sly sat transfixed, staring after her in stunned silence. Then he began thinking carefully about everything she'd said.

* * *

Penelope paced up and down the narrow central room of their temporary headquarters. Rory was out buying some groceries. Sly was who-knew-where, probably trying to convince Carmelita that nothing unusual was going on. And Bentley…

She crossed her arms and stood, looking at her workbench, with its assortment of replacement helicopter pieces spread across it. She'd already rechecked her RC model. It was in perfect working order. But still, she felt that she should do something.

She turned and paced in the other direction. Her eyes lingered on Bentley's projector. He'd always had a gift for planning. She hoped that Sly would bring some inspiration.

Penelope heard footsteps on the stairway outside. She opened the door and saw Kent approaching.

"I'm glad you could come," she said, ushering him in. "I wanted to have a word with you." Secretly, she was surprised that he'd come at all, after the events of last night.

"I'm really sorry about what happened. If there's anything I can do, just say so."

Penelope closed the door, leaning back against it. "There is. There were some rumblings in the gang about someone setting us up. I just wanted to ask you about where you were the night before last."

"I didn't squeal on you, if that's what you mean," he said, holding up a paw defensively. "You brought me in to provide equipment and that's all I did."

"You didn't happen to tell anyone about our plans? This was, after all, the first time that you'd sat in on one of Bentley's briefings."

"You think I sold you guys out, don't you? No way."

Penelope tried to smile reassuringly. She wasn't sure that she'd gotten it quite right, as he seemed to flinch back from her expression.

"Well then, I just want to know where you were the night before our raid."

"I was… I was in my shop. You know, I had to get that portable winch ready, right?" He chuckled self-consciously. "I told all of you that after the briefing ended."

She nodded slowly and deliberately while Kent fidgeted.

"The thing is," she said, "Rory saw you in an alley downtown later that night with some people that he didn't recognize."

"Ah. Well. Those were just some friends of mine. It's nothing for you to worry about."

She leaned forward, saying, "I don't think you understand. I want my Bentley back safe and sound. You're going to tell me who you were meeting downtown or I'll call Rory in here and things will get unpleasant."

The weasel gulped. He tried to look back at Penelope's fixed stare but couldn't meet her eyes. Instead, he buried his face in his paws.


	9. Chapter 9: A Secret Shared

"I went there but it's not what you think. I didn't say anything about your plan to anyone! I was only there on personal business," Kent blubbered. "You can trust me."

"What was this 'business,' then?"

"I don't want… Don't tell him," he said, lifting his head to look at her. "I'll tell you if you promise not to tell him."

Penelope blinked. "Tell who?"

"Sly! And Bentley, too. I don't want them to find out. They're underworld icons and I spent a long time trying to get chances to work with them. But Sly wouldn't hire me for anything if he knew."

"You haven't even told me what you're talking about," she said, exasperated.

He hung his head and mumbled towards the floor.

Penelope grabbed his shoulders. "Look. I won't tell Sly if you just give me a straight story right now."

"I was buying spice."

"What? Spice drugs?"

He managed a feeble laugh. "I wasn't in a dark alley at midnight to buy paprika." He reached inside his jacket and pulled a small bag from an inner pocket, holding it out for her to see.

She blinked. "You're addicted?"

Kent nodded. "I need it to… focus. The hypnotic spice extract focuses my thoughts.

"It started because it helped me work faster, let me really understand the machines. My paws could just fit pieces together in a glorious rhythm.

"Now I can't work without it. My brain won't focus like it used to. I'm worried that, without the spice trance, I couldn't even build things anymore."

He looked pleadingly at her. "Can you understand? My mind has always been filled with gears and motors, but now… What if my mind --what if _I_-- can't do it anymore?"

They stood in silence for a moment as Penelope cast her mind back over the time machine project. She and Bentley had been working on that for months. Whenever they thought they were close, they'd discover some factor he'd overlooked or some flaw in a part she'd designed. Bentley, who had always done his math right, had made mistakes in the quantum transform equations; that had really shaken his confidence, too.

Penelope nodded absently. "Perhaps I do understand."

Kent saw the change in her face and knew that she was sincere. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything," he said. "I know that Sly broke up a major spice ring a few years ago, you see. I was worried that if he found out, he'd have nothing to do with me."

"You don't know him well enough," she said. "It's not like you're selling the stuff. I think he'd rather help you break your habit. You should talk to him."

The weasel shook his head. "No. I just couldn't."

"Well, at least give it some thought."

She started to turn away and he quickly said, "Remember, you promised you wouldn't tell him."

"I won't. You should be the one to do that."

Sly arrived back at the hideout an hour later. Penelope and Kent were at her workbench, tinkering with a balky servo motor. When Sly spotted Kent, he headed towards him with his jaw set.

Penelope held out a paw to intercept the raccoon. "Sly, can I have a word with you?"

He pulled his eyes away from the weasel, who had stopped working and was looking, guiltily, at the pair of them. "I'd really like to talk to Kent," he muttered.

"He's fine," she said firmly.

"What do you mean?"

"I've already talked to him."

Kent spoke up from behind her, his voice quavering. "Honest, Sly, I'd never sell you out."

The raccoon looked back and forth between them. Then he asked Penelope, "You're convinced?"

She nodded solemnly.

"I see. I'm not sure. But then," Sly said, perplexed, "if he didn't, it could only have been—"

"I know."

Carmelita glanced up at the clock. It was late, very late.

Even when Constable Cooper was out with friends, he always came home before midnight.

She suspected that Constable Cooper wouldn't be coming home again.

A tear crept down her cheek. The fur there was still matted and spiky from when she'd cried earlier. She sniffed with a long, shuddering inhalation.

_Get a grip on yourself, girl. It was your decision. You basically told him that you knew what was going on. You broke the fairy tale._

She sniffed and reached for a tissue.

_The worst part is that it was the right decision. You passed the test._

_Now it's his choice what to do and his test to pass. Maybe he just hightailed it. Was he a coward after all? Couldn't even risk a farewell message?_

She glanced up at the clock again.

_If I'm going to show up at the station for the transfer tomorrow, I'd better get a few hours' sleep or I'll be a mess. More of a mess._


	10. Chapter 10: A New Plan

Sly had commandeered the back room of the temporary headquarters which Bentley and Penelope had been using as their bedroom. But Bentley wasn't around and Penelope didn't mind.

She knocked gingerly on the closed door.

There was a muffled "Yeah?" from inside.

Penelope eased open the door. "Sorry to interrupt. I know you asked for some quiet. I just wanted to grab my sweater."

Sly nodded and turned back to the papers spread in front of him. A board had been placed across some boxes as a makeshift desk. Papers were strewn across it, covered in sketches and arrows.

Penelope picked up the green sweater from where she'd left it beside the bed. She glanced over and saw the raccoon staring vacantly forward.

"You want anything?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

She padded back towards the room's door but paused on the threshold. "Anything I can do to help?"

Again, he shook his head.

"I want to help, you know."

"I've got to figure this out," he said. "It's so close I feel I can almost get my paws on it." He stabbed a blunt pencil down into the wood. "I need to come up with a solid plan. I've just got to."

"We're a team, right? I'm supposed to help you when you're stuck."

"Not this time. I've got to work against the team. Set a trap for our traitor, free Bentley, get my cane… Every move needs to fit into place. We need to be ready to break in different directions."

Penelope frowned. She wasn't sure he'd meant it to sound quite as bad as that. He was very tired, after all. But she didn't want to just leave it at that.

"When you say you don't trust the team," she said, "I hope that you don't mean you suspect me?"

He turned around and, to her relief, was clearly surprised by her question.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he said. "Sorry. I just am still unsure… Look, if you want to help, tell me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Can you drive a stick shift?"

* * *

Early the next morning, Penelope knocked on the bedroom door. She'd let Sly work there through the night and had spent her night on the couch.

"I'll be right out," came the groggy voice.

She returned to the main room. Rory and Kent had shown up around six that morning, ready for action. Sometime during the night, Sly had slipped a note out under the door indicating that they didn't need to move out until just before the prisoner transfer and he needed his sleep.

After a few minutes, Sly wandered out. His eyes looked a bit dim and Penelope fancied she could see dark circles under his eyes even through the black fur.

He carried a piece of folded paper. He pulled a box over in front of the couch to serve as a table and laid it out before them.

"No fancy slideshow," he said, "That's Bentley's department. But I think I have a way we can get in and out quickly enough."

Rory and Kent, sitting on the couch, leaned forward to peer at the diagram. Penelope remained standing, off to one side. She knew the raccoon had figured out something good by the determined tone in his voice that cut through the tiredness.

"This is the layout of the second floor of the police station, at least the areas I know. We're going to sneak in and break out Bentley during the actual transfer ceremony."

"We're going to masquerade as police?" asked Rory.

"Nope. Most of the officers will be outside, formally greeting Carmelita and her boss. For a local precinct, this is a big professional feather in their cap and they want to wear it. So while everyone important is out front, we have a few minutes to act uninterrupted.

"First step is to get inside. Penelope, you'll use your RC 'copter to lift a rope and the winch Kent provided up to the station roof."

She gave him a thumbs up.

"I can climb the rope as long as it's anchored. But I think Rory may need the winch as an elevator. Unless you've practiced your climbing?" He looked over at the walrus.

"Not really. I'm coming inside with you?"

Sly nodded. "We might need your muscle," he said. "Once on the roof, we head down into this hallway near Officer Thompson's office. I'll steal the keys. We head over here," he said, pointing at another part of the diagram, "to the cells. We'll have to be on our toes because I don't know all the security they might have or how soon the cops will be inside.

"Once we've got Bentley and my cane, we head back up to the roof and drop down into this side street. Penelope, you'll be waiting there with the van; you get to be the getaway driver on this mission."

She frowned. She remembered Sly's question last night. He must know that what he'd said was wrong.

He'd paused and she went with her instinct. "Sly," she said, raising her paw. "The van's a stick shift. I can't drive stick."

"Oh," said Sly. "Dang." He looked crestfallen. She noted that he was a good actor.

He looked up at the last member in the room and said, "Kent, can you drive?"

The weasel shrugged. "Sure. I mean, was I supposed to do anything else?"

"Just provide equipment. I was thought about asking for the plasma cutter again but I wasn't sure it'd cut through cell bars."

"Not quickly. You'd probably run out of time or fuel," he said. "It's designed for sheet metal, really."

The raccoon nodded. "That's what I figured."

Rory cleared his throat. "Uh, Sly, is it best to use an untested driver? I mean, if we need to make a quick getaway…"

"Penelope can't do it and I need you inside. Seems like our best option." He clapped his hands together. "Okay, let's get ready to move. We roll out in five minutes."

Everyone stood up and started to collect their gear.

Penelope angled over and caught Sly off to one side of the room while he was strapping on his leg pouch.

"I assume you wanted me to speak up," she said quietly.

"All part of the plan."

"And leaving so late? That note struck me as odd."

He looked up and winked at her. "You're sharp. I didn't want there to be any time for someone to sneak away unobserved and spread the plan to a contact. We keep everyone where we can see 'em from here on in."


	11. Chapter 11: Reunited in Jail

The whir of the chopper grew louder as it hovered next to the open back doors of the van. Penelope cut the engine as it touched down on the road's cobblestones.

She hopped out, stopped the rotor, and lifted it up. She took a quick look around to make sure the coast was still clear then re-entered the van.

The gang sat in the back cargo space, waiting for their chance to move.

"The rope and winch are in position," she reported.

Sly nodded and glanced at his watch. "Time to move. Rory, you're with me. Kent and Penelope, you get up front and be ready to drive if we need you. Now, let's go break _into_ jail!"

With that he hopped out of the van and slipped around the corner of the building. The narrow street behind the station had very little traffic mid-morning but they'd donned utility worker uniforms just in case they were spotted. It would be enough of a disguise to make a casual observer look past them.

Sly made his way up the side of the building, going paw-over-paw along the rope and hooking his toes into the brickwork. Once on the roof, he anchored the winch — Penelope's chopper hadn't been able to do that, so she'd just looped the rope around a vent pipe a few times — so that Rory could follow him up.

The roof had a decorative dome lined up with the front edge, centered over the station's lobby. The rest of the rectangular roof was just a flat area dotted with antennas and vents.

Sly motioned to Rory. The walrus came over and Sly said quietly, "I want you to do me a favor while I scope out our entry. Keep an eye on the van for a minute."

"Kent?"

The raccoon nodded. "I'm still not sure about him. Let me know if he makes any suspicious moves or tries to drive off."

"Sure thing," Rory said, nodding. He stepped over near the edge of the roof and laid down on his stomach so that he could peek down over the gutter.

Sly went the other way, heading over to the access hatch. It was locked from the inside, probably due to building safety regulations rather than security concerns. Especially since there were exposed hinges on this side.

A moment later, Sly tucked the screwdriver back into his pocket and lifted the hatch up. He listened for a second and then lowered his head down to see into the hallway.

The hatch was at one end of a passage. Against the outer wall of the building, the side with the alley and their van, a metal access ladder was bolted to the wall. Looking down the hall, there were doors on either side. The one nearest, he was relieved to see, had the name "Thompson" on a nameplate. And, through the frosted glass pane in the door, he saw a shadow moving around.

Sly checked his watch. _Any minute now._ He kept an eye on that door. Then he saw the shadow get larger and the edges come into focus on the glass.

He pulled his head back up until he heard a few footsteps. Then he lowered himself through the hatch opening, hanging by his fingertips. Officer Thompson, in a spotless uniform that looked like it had had the creases pressed into it with a steamroller, was striding down the hall. Sly couldn't help but notice that one back pocket bulged.

He dropped lightly onto his feet and tiptoed forwards. He moved quickly, trying to catch up to the officer before he reached the central staircase at the corner of the hallway just ahead. Sly took long strides and timed his footsteps to match Thompson's so he couldn't hear him hurrying up behind him. Then he reached out and gently extracted a ring of keys.

Muffling them in his gloved paw, he turned on the spot and practically bounced back to the ladder. He climbed a few rungs until his head was through the hatch. He whistled and Rory looked over. Sly gave a wave and headed back down.

The hallway went past a few office doors and then turned a right angle to head toward the cells. The lobby stairway intersected the hall at that point and they could see the police working the desk below. Fortunately, no one looked up at that moment to see the raccoon and walrus creeping around the corner.

The hall ended at a reinforced door watched by a security camera. Thanks to Carmelita's hints, Sly knew he could safely ignore it. Curiously, Rory offered no comment on the obvious camera pointed in their direction.

Sly pulled out the ring of keys and began rapidly testing them in the lock.

"Where'd you get those?"

"Swiped them from Officer Thompson just now."

"Really? Thompson was here and I missed it?" asked Rory.

Sly thought he sounded vaguely disappointed, like he'd missed an opportunity. That was interesting information, too, and just about what Sly had expected.

There was a click from the lock as the bolt slid back and Sly's attention returned to the door. With a gentle tug, it swung open.

The cell block had a single central hallway heading off to their right. Thick bars ran floor to ceiling down each side, fronting the cells. Cinderblock walls separated the cells from each other.

"Close the door and watch through the window for a moment in case anyone heard anything," Sly said to Rory. "Then come down and catch up with me."

The walrus nodded and Sly dashed away down past the cells.

He skidded to a stop a moment later in front of a forlorn turtle sitting on a metal bunk.

Bentley looked up and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Guess what, Bentley? It's jailbreak time."

"Sly?"

The raccoon nodded patiently. "You were expecting Officer Thompson?"

"Yes, actually. He should be here any minute."

"I know. I've got to get you out quickly."

"What's the plan?"

Sly reached down to his leg pouch and felt inside for the small sphere he'd placed there last night. He pulled it out, keeping it hidden from view in case Rory was watching.

"Here, this is yours," Sly said, passing it to Bentley.

The turtle squinted down at the metal device. "Sly, what's the plan? I'm a little lost."

Just then, Sly could hear Rory's footsteps heading down the cell block toward them.

"No time to explain, bud," he said. "Keep that hidden. You'll know when to use it."

Sly straightened up as Rory approached.

"Looks like the coast's clear," the walrus reported. "Let's open the cells."

Sly crossed the wide central aisle to the cell opposite Bentley's. Inside was his cane, leaning against the back wall, and Bentley's souped-up wheelchair.

He pulled out the stolen keys and tried a few before he got the lock to click open. Then he turned and tossed the keys to Rory. "Here, get Bentley's cell open. I'll grab his chair."

For a moment, a surprised expression passed across Rory's face as he looked down at the ring of keys in his hand. Then it blossomed into a wicked smile.

Sly was inside the evidence cell, checking over Bentley's chair for damage, when the door clanged shut behind him.


	12. Chapter 12: Other Times, Other Jails

Sly whirled around to see Rory, one hand on the bars of the locked cell door and the keys in the other.

"Rory! What are you doing?"

The walrus chuckled and took a step back, standing in the middle of the aisle. "You got away the first time. Now it's even better: you're locked up in jail. Fitting."

Sly looked alarmed now. "What do you mean 'fitting'? Quit fooling around and unlock the door."

"Not this time, Cooper. I've put you behind bars, where you belong." He leered at the worried raccoon. "And why is this fitting? It's my father's fate, thanks to your gang. He's been rotting in a maximum-security penitentiary for a decade."

"Big Jim McSweeney? But he ran with my dad, not me."

Rory spit on the floor. "You'd like to just forget about him, then? You chose to carry on the Cooper legacy, the family business. Did you think to free your father's friend?" He snorted. "You just think about yourself and the reputation of the infamous Sly Cooper. That's why it was so easy to set you up by stealing that showy cane of yours."

Sly stared at him. "You arranged for the cane to be stolen?"

"That was just the first step in landing you here. Why should you get to walk away, untarnished and free? I worked for a long time to get into your gang. Then it was just a matter of making sure I could get you to step into a trap."

"You didn't count on me escaping from the cops."

Rory glared. "You're good, I'll give you that. But I figured I could keep undercover, casting suspicion on Kent, until I had another opportunity." He paused and then gave a rumbling chuckle. "I didn't expect that you'd want to break into a jail cell. That was a better chance than I expected."

"So, what'll you do now, Rory?"

"I'm going to go tell my friend — I believe you know Officer Thompson? — I've captured you. He'll hand you over in view of Interpol and police officers. With that many witnesses, Carmelita won't be able to worm her way out of it or 'accidentally' let you escape. You'll end up in prison this time."

Sly hung his head, leaning on the bars of the cell door. "Is that what you really want? That'll make you happy?"

"Immensely. There will finally be justice for my father."

"Did you know that I've spoken with your father?" Sly asked quietly.

Rory looked doubtful. "He's in solitary. Even I can't visit him."

The raccoon shook his head. "Rory, I didn't go in as a visitor. I broke into that jail, too." He looked up and said, "You know what? I offered to spring him. He didn't want to take the risk. He'd retired from his old life and preferred to stay there rather than have to run and evade a manhunt."

"You're lying."

"Believe what you want. But I've spoken to your father and you didn't even do that."

Rory banged his fist against the bars and Sly moved his hands just in time. "Enough," he bellowed. "I'll not have you twist things. Regardless of your lies, you need to serve for your crimes."

* * *

Carmelita didn't care if anyone noticed the sour look on her face. She was not in much of a mood to humor people.

Officer Thompson was making a big deal out of this prisoner exchange. It was his ticket to a promotion and a chance to show her up. She wasn't really bothered about either of those things; she was just upset that he was using Bentley to do it.

She glanced around. There were four photographers and a few additional reporters. No doubt Thompson had phoned every paper and suggested that they show up.

The press stood in a small semicircle as Thompson spoke to them from the steps in front of the station, flanked by the other officers. She wasn't really following his long-winded speech but he said something and gestured in her direction. Carmelita smiled graciously in time for a few camera clicks.

Her mind was on Sly. Where was he? Had he acted on her information? She had no way of knowing.

Carmelita sighed and the sour look returned.


	13. Chapter 13: Rooftop Photo Op

Rory was about to leave Sly sitting in the locked cell when the raccoon said, "One thing I have to know before the last blow falls."

"Yes?"

"You hired Jynx to steal the cane. I figured that out; he got past all of our traps yet let himself trip one alarm and get videotaped. You told him exactly what to do."

Rory nodded.

"But Officer Thompson? Did he contact you?"

There was the slightest metallic clink as Bentley slipped an arm through the bars of his cell and set down the metal sphere Sly had handed him earlier.

Rory, responding to the question, didn't notice. "No, I tipped him off. I cut a deal with him through a mutual friend. In exchange for getting you in custody, my criminal record conveniently disappears from their files."

There was a soft beeping noise. Sly casually took a step backwards from the cell door.

Rory glanced down to see the bomb with its blinking green light.

"What the…?"

A puff of green mist billowed around him. He stumbled sideways, gurgled something incoherently, then crumpled to the floor.

Sly didn't waste any time. He bounded to the back of the cell and fetched his cane. He reached through the bars and hooked the key ring from where it had fallen from Rory's limp hand.

In short order, he had unlocked his cell and Bentley's. He lifted Bentley up, carried him over, and set him back into his own wheelchair. The turtle smiled and ran his hands along the familiar black armrests.

Then Sly dragged Rory's unconscious form into Bentley's cell and shut the door with a clang. "Good timing, Bentley."

"Thanks. I wasn't sure if you intended me to wait for a specific signal but 'final blow' sounded appropriate."

Sly nodded. There was a groan from the cell and Rory shifted slightly. The anesthetic was fast-acting but it didn't last too long.

Sly winked at Bentley and said, "Now we need to escape via the roof." He spoke a little too loudly and deliberately and Bentley picked up on the cue.

"The roof, Sly?"

"That's how we got in so we're going to leave by the same route. Our gear's waiting on the roof. Let's go."

Sly thought he caught Rory peeking out from one eye. He hoped that he'd heard enough. Either way, they needed to get out because they'd run out of time.

* * *

Four people headed into the station to effect the transfer: Officer Thompson and his boss, Police Chief Beck; Carmelita and her boss, Interpol's Chief Barkley.

Carmelita's first clue that something was amiss was when Thompson put his hand into his back pocket. He was obviously reaching for something that wasn't there. This was followed by a few frantic pats, checking that the pocket was indeed empty.

He didn't say anything so she kept quiet, watching him. The group reached the top of the station's staircase and headed down the narrow hallway towards the cell block.

Now the local police chief spoke up. "Thompson, did you leave the cell block door open for the transfer?"

Thompson hurried forward to the ajar door. The key was inserted in the lock with his key ring hanging from it. "I, uh, I must've accidentally left it when I checked on our detainee this morning," he stammered.

Carmelita smiled to herself. She had long experience with such "accidents" when a certain raccoon was on the premises.

Thompson and Beck rushed into the cell area. There was a startled cry from Thompson as he saw what had happened. "Rory!"

The walrus was sitting on the cell bunk, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "The roof," he said groggily. "Sly Cooper was just here. They're escaping on the roof right now." His words were still slightly slurred from the knock-out bomb. "Catch them!"

Thompson spun and raced back down the aisle and out into the station hallway.

The other three officers stood in the cell block, looking at the unsteady walrus. Carmelita stepped forward and peered at him. "He called you Rory," she said.

The walrus shifted nervously where he was seated on the bare tile floor of the cell. "Uh, hello?"

"Now I remember! You're in our files, Rory McSweeney. Wanted on a number of counts, I believe. What a convenience to have you already detained." She turned back to the Chief. "Well, it's not who we came for but we'll get one criminal today."

Chief Beck cleared her throat. "I'm sorry about all this. It would appear that the publicized detainee escaped in a jailbreak just minutes ago."

"Using Officer Thompson's keys," Carmelita noted.

The chief flushed. "Yes," she said, through tight lips.

Chief Barkley asked, "Your prisoner was a turtle in a wheelchair, right?"

She nodded.

"Any idea how he believes the prisoner can climb up to and then down from the roof of this building?"

"None whatever," said Chief Beck. "I suppose we had better head back outside. Since Officer Thompson insisted on calling the press, I'll need to announce what's happened and make a formal apology to Interpol."

Chief Barkley gave a satisfied grunt and his cigar flipped from one corner of his mouth to the other.

When they got back outside, they realized that the photographers were distracted by the sight of a lawman running back and forth on the station roof, swearing loudly. Now the shutters were clicking rapidly.

As the three of them stood on the station steps, ignored by the press, Carmelita leaned over to Chief Beck and asked quietly, "That is the police officer who's your second-in-command?"

"No," she replied. "Not since about two minutes ago."


	14. Chapter 14: Home Again

Sly was crouched down in the darkness next to one arm of Bentley's wheelchair.

"Think it's safe yet?" the turtle whispered.

The raccoon held up a hand indicating he should wait.

Shortly, they heard shoes clunking on the metal rungs of the ladder as Officer Thompson came down from the roof. His footsteps echoed as he ran down the station hallway. They didn't even pause at the closed door the two figures were hiding behind; the footsteps proceeded on toward the stairs.

"Now," Sly said. He walked over to the office window and slid the wooden sash up. Cool morning air drifted in.

"How'd you know we'd be able to hide here?" asked Bentley as he wheeled over.

"I figured Thompson would search for us. And if he's out searching, he's not going to be in his office."

"Excellent prediction."

Sly grinned. "See? All those years, I've actually been paying attention to your planning technique." He leaned out and saw that Kent had moved the van into the alley so that it was below the window.

He gave Bentley a thumbs up. Bentley hit the booster on his chair and hopped out the window, landing with a clatter on the van roof. Then he boosted from there down to the street and then into the back cargo area. Sly followed him out, hanging from his arms, dropping down, and then hopping into the vehicle. By the time he got in, Penelope had already grabbed Bentley and pulled him into a hug.

Kent hit the gas and the van wheeled out of the alley, around the back of the police station, and off through the maze-like Parisian streets.

* * *

Carmelita was frying up a pork chop for dinner and pretending that she cared about food. Her mind was elsewhere, jumping from one thing to another, restlessly.

Her head flicked up when she heard a key in the lock on the front door. She stepped past the stove and stood in the kitchen doorway, where she had a view of the apartment's front door.

Sly Cooper entered, casually turning to push the door shut behind him.

She stared. It wasn't Constable Cooper. The raccoon was wearing his earlier uniform: the loose blue shirt, cloth cap and boots, black mask over his natural dark fur, and distinctive red leg pouch. And, most significantly, his cane. It was the figure she'd seen vanishing across the rooftops a hundred times before.

He came across the room to her, showing that unforgettable smile of his.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"Everything that's happened in the past few days has certainly changed things. Yet how could I just forget about the past few months we've had together?"

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm relieved to hear you say that. But things can't go on like they were; I had to stop pretending in order to help you." She sighed. "I don't care about that but the chief will suspect."

"We'll sort that out. I have a cover story and no one saw me at the police station other than Rory. Maybe we can keep up our bluff."

She released him, and stepped back to look at him. He regarded her with those hopeful eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I doubt Chief Barkley will be convinced. Even before this, he was getting anxious about our arrangement. I never told you but he was pressing me to put you behind bars before your 'amnesia' wore off."

He sighed, dropping his gaze. "Yeah. I was afraid of that. It was all too good to last."

"Look, there's something else I wanted to say, something I promised myself I'd say if I ever saw you again."

Sly looked back up at her and arched an eyebrow.

"I love you. I'm sorry I tricked you and lied about our past."

He chuckled. "But I tricked you into thinking you'd tricked me."

"Still, I shouldn't have lied to you in order to be close to you."

He thought about this for a moment. "Maybe. On the other hand, now we're able to be honest with each other, right? Doesn't that justify a little lie?"

She shook her head. "Always thinking about the results. You never did appreciate that there are right ways and wrong ways to go about things."

"And with that view of taking the right action," he said, "what are you going to do about me now? I'm no longer an Interpol officer. I'm a fugitive again."

"I don't know." She leaned sideways against the kitchen door frame. "I'm not sure I could go back to chasing you, knowing you as I do. But what am I supposed to do? That's my job."

"There are other jobs. Ever thought of living on the lam?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You aren't suggesting I join you at being a thief, are you?"

"Not necessarily. We could pick somewhere remote and just vanish." He looked past her into the kitchen and flashed a quick grin. "Of course, I might do a little something on the side…"

"You mean you're going back to being a thief after all that's happened?"

"Not full-time. Just a little bit here and there."

She glared at him.

"Strictly as a hobby. When things present themselves, you know."

"Sly…"

"To start with, I think I might steal your pork chop. It smells wonderful and I haven't eaten all day." With a quick sidestep, he slipped past her through the kitchen door.

"Now listen here, ringtail…"

FIN

* * *

_Thanks for reading and special thanks to all the people who've reviewed and commented. The feedback is much appreciated. I hope everyone enjoyed the story!_ - Nicodemus


End file.
